Chapter Twenty: The Banquet at Hongmen, Murderous Intent Unleashed (2)

The tea culture of the Great Tang was vast and profound, an independent system in its own right. Yet to Kong Sheng, no matter how refined the tea rituals of this era, he would never dare to partake in them. He simply could not comprehend why the people of Tang insisted on grinding perfectly good tea leaves into powder to make tea cakes, only to boil them, erasing all trace of the tea’s original form and color. That, in itself, might have been forgivable, yet they further insisted on adding all manner of seasonings and spices to the brew, creating a rich, cloying concoction devoid of any delicate fragrance, a taste so heavy that swallowing it became an ordeal.

For the literati and gentlemen of the Tang, hosting tea gatherings, composing poetry on tea, writing essays, tasting and debating tea, and making friends through tea were all commonplace. When Liu Nian, a scion of officialdom, and the esteemed southern scholar Zhou Chang jointly organized a tea and literature salon, it became the talk of Jiangning Prefecture. The two invited the city's young scholars far and wide, spreading word that they would publicly compete with Kong Sheng in poetry and prose to determine who was truly superior.

By noon, a lively crowd had already begun to gather outside Rose Hall, one of the Eight Gardens of Mist and Clouds. Citizens and curious onlookers jostled with street vendors eager for a crowd, all converging beneath Liu Xinru’s loft by the Qinhuai River. Some hawked their wares while others debated the coming contest; the air thrummed with excitement, the din of voices nearly overwhelming.

Zhou Chang and Liu Nian had arrived early to prepare for the event. They had chosen Rose Hall not only for the customary accompaniment of music and dance by songstresses at such gatherings, but also for deeper, more calculating reasons. After much scheming, the two had settled on Liu Xinru’s pavilion as the venue, paying a hefty sum to ensure her personal attendance and entertainment.

Meng Chao, Ma An, and other young men of prominent families had naturally come early to support their leader, Liu Nian, while Zhou Chang arrived with several close friends in tow.

Liu Xinru appeared as always—lightly made up, clad in a pink low-cut ruqun, her delicate and charming face adorned with a professional smile. She sat quietly behind a zither table at the side, her gaze resting on Liu Nian and Zhou Chang as they whispered conspiratorially, a complex glint flickering in her eyes.

Zhou Chang was well-known in the city, a man who prided himself on his integrity and purity. That he now kept company with the notorious playboy Liu Nian, seemingly birds of a feather, truly puzzled Liu Xinru. From her long observation, she had pieced together the gist: Liu Nian was bent on revenge against Kong Sheng, while Zhou Chang was desperate to outshine Kong Sheng and restore his own literary reputation. Thus, the two had quickly allied, plotting this tea and literature gathering as a trap to lure Kong Sheng in.

What sort of trap it might be, Liu Xinru could not yet discern.

As for Kong Sheng, Liu Xinru was still half in doubt. In the past, that houseboy had pestered Rose Hall daily with shameless antics that defied description, and her dislike for him needed no explanation. Yet that very man had suddenly soared, astonishing all with his talent—a transformation too dramatic to believe for anyone who had not witnessed it firsthand.

Yet in the past few days, Kong Sheng’s poems had already begun circulating within the Eight Gardens, especially the mournful, winding verses of “Song of Everlasting Sorrow,” which had moved countless Qinhuai songstresses to tears. Liu Xinru herself was deeply touched, and in a moment of inspiration, had even composed a melody for the poem, though she had not yet had a chance to match it to her zither.

Her maid, Tian’er, knelt obediently behind her, her bright, lively eyes darting about. Barely in her teens, still a child at heart, she was lively and innocent—hardly one for stillness.

“Miss, is this tea gathering really just for Young Master Zhou Chang and Young Master Liu Nian to compete with that good-for-nothing Kong Sheng?” Tian’er whispered conspiratorially in her mistress’s ear. “I’ll bet that scoundrel won’t even dare to show up. He’s nothing but a dolt—how could he possibly compose poetry? I’ll never believe it!”

“Tian’er, enough!” Liu Xinru frowned and gently rebuked her. “We earn our living by performing for patrons. Don’t meddle in others’ affairs and bring trouble upon yourself for no reason.”

Tian’er was not entirely convinced, but nonetheless pursed her lips and fell silent.

In truth, Liu Xinru had no wish to become entangled in others’ schemes; she longed only for the gathering to end swiftly, so she might send this group of self-righteous gentlemen on their way and return to her peace. Yet she had not anticipated that Zhou Chang and Liu Nian had already made her a pawn in their base intrigue—should things go awry, she might become a sacrifice to their ruthless ambitions.

Liu Nian cast a greedy glance in Liu Xinru’s direction, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He chuckled, tugged at Zhou Chang’s sleeve, and sidled over, his breath thick with wine. “Brother Zhou, that delicate beauty over there makes my heart itch. Why not let me have a taste first? As for Kong Sheng, as long as he dares to show his face, I’ll see to it that he leaves with nothing but shame!”

Even at such a crucial moment, this scoundrel’s mind was still on women—Zhou Chang cursed Liu Nian’s depravity inwardly, his eyes flashing with disgust before he schooled his features and replied in a low, serious tone, “Brother Liu, don’t let small desires ruin our great endeavor. With your birth and charm, you’ll never lack for women. As for this songstress, leave her to me—she’ll be yours in due time.”

Zhou Chang’s flattery—that Liu Nian was so dashing—immediately went to the latter’s head. Had anyone else spoken thus, Liu Nian might have brushed it off, but coming from a southern luminary like Zhou Chang, it seemed all the more significant.

Ahem.

Liu Nian composed himself, cleared his throat, straightened his back, and nodded. “Brother Zhou speaks true. I am indebted to your guidance!”

Watching Liu Nian’s sycophantic posturing, Zhou Chang felt a surge of nausea, nearly retching on the spot. He forced himself to endure, turning his head away.

Were it not for his burning hatred of Kong Sheng, and the need to borrow Liu Nian’s influence to achieve his aims, Zhou Chang would never have lowered himself to consort with a man like this.

A chilling glint flashed in Zhou Chang’s eyes. This time, he was determined to reclaim his lost honor. If he could not bring Kong Sheng low, his hard-won reputation, his future marriage alliance with the Yang family—everything—would be ruined. His resentment knew no bounds, and the traps he had devised were vicious and cunning.

One by one, the invited young scholars arrived. Zhou Chang and Liu Nian stood together at the pavilion entrance, exchanging greetings with their guests. Yet the principal, Kong Sheng, was nowhere to be seen. As Zhou Chang grew agitated and Liu Nian irate, Kong Sheng’s figure finally appeared before the crowd.

He wore a narrow-sleeved, round-collared robe of blue, his hair bound with a headscarf, a gleaming bronze flute tucked at his waist. He moved with effortless grace, his bearing poised and dignified.

A surge of exultant anticipation welled up in Zhou Chang’s chest. His only fear had been that Kong Sheng would not appear; now that he had, there was no escaping the trap set for him. No matter how talented Kong Sheng might be, he would be utterly ruined, perhaps even imprisoned, with no hope of redemption.

Liu Nian sneered, casting Kong Sheng a contemptuous glance.

Zhou Chang, all smiles, cupped his hands in greeting. “Please, Brother Kong, come in!”

Kong Sheng returned the gesture with a mild smile and entered, his gaze sweeping the room. Seeing Zhou Chang’s left side unoccupied, he seated himself there, setting his bronze flute upright on the table. Zhou Chang recognized it as the flute-sword given to Kong Sheng by that wandering priest.

Since he was here, he would see what tricks Liu Nian and Zhou Chang had prepared for this banquet. No matter their intentions, as long as he kept his composure, he need not fear—he would meet force with force, water with earth. If he couldn’t best a hypocrite like Zhou Chang or a scoundrel like Liu Nian, he had no place in a world as turbulent and perilous as the Great Tang. He might as well dash his head against a wall and return to the modern era a thousand years hence.

From her vantage, Liu Xinru found herself gazing at Kong Sheng’s tall, slender back. A strange sense of wonder began to take root in her heart. The Kong Sheng she saw today seemed worlds apart from the one she remembered—clear-eyed, calm, exuding an air of composure and dignity that made him a stranger to her.

Was this truly the infamous houseboy of the Kong family?

In that moment, Liu Xinru suddenly believed much that she had previously doubted—the rumors about Kong Sheng circulating in the city these past two days. The so-called “good-for-nothing” was nothing more than an act, a mask worn by the Kong family’s young master for reasons known only to himself. She believed, too, that those brilliant poems could only have come from his hand.